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Had another man in the clubhouse last night. I was keeping up my form of getting hammered overnight but this guy is a nightmare - mixing strong lager, super strength cider, wine, perno and WKD to make what he called 'Plebby Bitch Snakebits'. After just a few he was getting violent, throwing furniture round, overturned the TV when a documentary on recent Labour Party leaders came on and when I asked him to calm down he kept making vicious throat sliiting gestures. I kept my head down in the corner and avoided his gaze as he continued shouting at things only he could see.
He had gone in the morning when I woke up and brushing aside the bottles and cans made my way out onto the court. My confidence was hit after getting only a parp yesterday after my two successive buzzards but a few snorts of my 'love powder' put me right and I served off.
Not as bad as yesterday but didn't go as far as I wanted, just skimmed the floor (2 y) Maybe I shouldn't have used the flat bat? I changed to that big fat one and slammed as hard as I could but skewed off to the side. (1g 1y)*******s. I'm losing the plot here and nipped into the bushes for a quick weep. Suddenly the love powder lifted my spirits and used a slanty bat which lifted the ball surprisingly stright onto the short grassy green bit with flag and I was near the hole for what turned out to be a simple conversion for another Parp.
After another poor start I considered my game. it's sh1t and I hate it.
Again, dispirited I went back to the clubhouse to start the day's proper manouvres and as I appraoched the door could already hear the screaming and snarling with accompanying slams and crashes with an unheard ferocity. I trembled at the door - this man is highly dangerous but this is where all of the drinks are. I had no choice but to slowly open the door. He stood menacing in the shadows, his face a grim mask of hatred and fury.
"Hello Kerr".
He had gone in the morning when I woke up and brushing aside the bottles and cans made my way out onto the court. My confidence was hit after getting only a parp yesterday after my two successive buzzards but a few snorts of my 'love powder' put me right and I served off.
Not as bad as yesterday but didn't go as far as I wanted, just skimmed the floor (2 y) Maybe I shouldn't have used the flat bat? I changed to that big fat one and slammed as hard as I could but skewed off to the side. (1g 1y)*******s. I'm losing the plot here and nipped into the bushes for a quick weep. Suddenly the love powder lifted my spirits and used a slanty bat which lifted the ball surprisingly stright onto the short grassy green bit with flag and I was near the hole for what turned out to be a simple conversion for another Parp.
After another poor start I considered my game. it's sh1t and I hate it.
Again, dispirited I went back to the clubhouse to start the day's proper manouvres and as I appraoched the door could already hear the screaming and snarling with accompanying slams and crashes with an unheard ferocity. I trembled at the door - this man is highly dangerous but this is where all of the drinks are. I had no choice but to slowly open the door. He stood menacing in the shadows, his face a grim mask of hatred and fury.
"Hello Kerr".
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